


The Teaching Assisstant of Shouka Sonjuku Academy

by cat_thy_yours



Category: Gintama
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Nothing underage, kid Gintoki antics, more like taking a peek into the past, pre-shogun assassination but contains spoilers for reveals made in shogun assassination arc, time-travel fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_thy_yours/pseuds/cat_thy_yours
Summary: He may have been the tiniest bit curious about that idiot’s past, but he'd never meant to find out about it quite so literally.Or, the one where Hijikata Toushirou inadvertently pays the Shouka Sonjuku Academy a visit.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 61
Kudos: 246





	1. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place sometime after the Baragaki (Thorny) Arc. It's an exploration of Gintoki's life as Shouyou's student through Hijikata's eyes. I tried to stick to canon but I did take some liberties (more on that in end notes). I HAVEN'T READ THE END OF THE MANGA SO NO SPOILERS PLEASE. 
> 
> Also, in case you didn't know, Ossan is the Japanese for "middle-aged man" (not very respectful) and a shinai is a bamboo sword used for practice.
> 
> (Ngl, this story comes purely from my dissatisfaction at Hijikata not knowing Gintoki's past.) In any case, please enjoy!

“Careful, Hijikata-san. The rain’s made this area slippery, it could be dangerous.” 

Toushirou sent a glance Sougo’s way as he stepped over a root. “I’m more worried about you.” 

“Please don’t worry about me,” the brat said, ducking under a branch. “That’s disgusting.” 

“I’m not worried about you slipping, dumbass. I’m worried about you making _me_ slip.” 

“I would never,” Sougo said. “You slipping to your death would merely be the product of your own inattention, Hijikata-san.” 

“Right,” Toushirou muttered dismissively, pushing a piece of foliage out of the way. 

The forest was as thick as it was annoyingly wet, covered with the remnants of an afternoon rain. As Sougo had said, it wasn’t the safest either, what with the number of crevasses and holes hidden under the greenery. If it hadn’t been for his job, Toushirou would never have spent a second of his life in here. 

“Hijikata-san, are we even sure that Katsura’s hiding in that kind of place?” 

“If he’s not, Yamazaki better find himself some white robes to give his last breath in.” 

Loathe as he was to admit it, Sougo was right: Toushirou _was_ inattentive. As much as he tried to focus on the task at hand —hunting down Katsura in the middle of a forest of all things, Toushirou had trouble keeping his mind in check. 

There was just one thought that kept coming back to haunt him, no matter how many times he tried to seal it away. 

If anything, he’d blame Tetsu. The boy had brought to the surface a bunch of things Toushirou didn’t usually revisit, and the whole debacle had left him with more activity in his head than he was used to. 

Now, his mind kept tugging him back to that smug smile as he’d faced off with the silver-haired bastard on the roof. He kept hearing his voice, tone provoking as the man had casually confessed to being the infamous Shiroyasha, of all people. 

It made sense, of course it did. That guy had always had a shady link with Katsura Kotarou and Takasugi Shinsuke, with whom Toushirou now had the confirmation that he’d fought during the war. The guy being a legendary war veteran with dangerous connections wasn’t that surprising, not really. Toushirou could buy it. 

But there was one thing he still didn’t understand. After the war had ended, both Katsura and Takasugi had pursued anti-bakufu activities. So why not him? Why was a man once feared by allies and foes alike now lounging on a chair all day long complaining about his high blood sugar levels? 

What could have mattered enough for this lazy-ass bum to pick up his sword and fight for his country at the time? 

Toushirou knew it was fruitless thinking. Nonetheless, he found himself time and time again wondering what had led the silver-haired man to become the person he was today. There had to be something he was missing, something—

“Hijikata-san, look up!” 

He instinctively lifted his head at the warning, only to see an empty space of nothing. “What are y—” 

His foot caught onto a root and made him lose his balance. He fell in slow motion, a single thought of, _Sougo_ _, you fucking prick,_ passing through his head before he started to roll down a particularly sharp slope and his vision faded to black. 

* * *

“...oi... ...Oi, are you alive?” 

_No thanks to you,_ was Toushirou’s first thought as his senses gradually returned. His head was hurting like hell, as well as his butt and his arm. He’d definitely get back at Sougo for that. 

“Oiiiii.” 

An irritating stick-like thing poked him in the cheek. He groaned, bringing a hand to his face to swat it away. 

Evidently, the stick came back. 

“Quit it already!” He threw himself upright. “Sougo, I swear I’m going to kill—” 

He paused when both the sensation of his brain sloshing precariously close to the back of his skull and the sight of who was actually crouching before him urged him to reconsider the idea of shouting. After a couple of seconds spent ushering his brain back where it belonged, he rubbed the confusion out of his eyes and tried again. 

In front of him wasn’t Sougo, but a kid holding a twig. 

A disturbingly familiar-looking kid. 

“So you were alive,” the kid said, leaning his head over a hand. “You alright?” 

Toushirou blinked. There was something highly unsettling in the way he was being stared at. Dead-fishly unsettling. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

The kid quirked an eyebrow. “That’s my line. Who are you and who do you think you are to be squatting my favorite napping spot?” 

“Napping spot?” Toushirou looked around, finding himself in a somewhat similar, somewhat different looking forest than the one he’d been in before. 

“Oi, Ossan, you don’t look all that right in the head right now. Are you drunk?” 

“Who're you calling Ossan?” Toushirou snapped on reflex. “I’m not drunk, brat. I just fell.” 

“Fell from what? This forest’s flat.” 

Toushirou was about to argue when he realized that the kid was right. The forest really was flat. But Toushirou had definitely rolled down a hill just now, and anyway, the entire terrain before that had been far from flat. Just how far had he ended up going? 

“You should work up your lying game if you want to actually sound credible,” the kid said. “That or stop drinking, your call.” 

Toushirou looked back at the brat, his annoyance levels rising increasingly fast. The resemblance to a certain someone was probably not helping with that. 

After a more careful observation, Toushirou was almost creeped out by the number of similarities the kid shared with that guy. The same silver perm, the same dark red eyes, the same apathetic expression that always looked a millimeter short of condescending. It was all the same, except smoother; younger. 

A younger version. 

Toushirou brought a hand to his temples. The kid was right, there really was something working wrong with his brain right now. After obsessing over that guy for the last few days, he’d finally become mad. 

“Hey, kid,” he said after a moment. “Know anywhere I can get a signal?” 

The kid furrowed his brows. “Signal?” 

“For my phone,” he elaborated. “This forest’s too far from Edo to get any signal.” 

The kid furrowed his brows in a way that looked almost worried. “Phone? And Edo’s on the other side of the country, what are you talking about?” 

“What are _you_ talking about?” Toushirou snapped back. “Edo’s the closest city from here.” 

“Ossan, the closest city’s Hagi. Did you really hit your head that hard?” 

Hagi? Bullshit. Hagi was in Yamaguchi prefecture. It was literally five hundred miles away from Edo, there was no way—

“Gintoki?” 

Toushirou almost jumped at the voice coming from the trees. The kid turned in its direction, unsurprised. “Sensei, over here. Come look what I found.” 

A man sporting long chestnut hair appeared from behind a row of trees. “Is it mushrooms again? I told you to be careful with these, you almost died of food poisoning last time.” 

“That was you, not me! Stop pushing all your embarrassing moments onto me already!” 

The man laughed good-naturedly as he approached. “Oh, was it? My bad, my memory’s getting worse these days.” 

“More like your selective memory’s getting better,” the kid grumbled as the man finally reached them. 

The moment he could properly take in the sight of Toushirou sitting by his student’s side, the man blinked, curiosity flashing over his eyes. “A person?” 

“A drunkard.” 

“For the last time,” Toushirou said through gritted teeth, “I am _not_ drunk.” He turned toward the man. “Do you know how to get to Edo from here?” 

“Edo?” The man cocked his head. “I suppose so, but Edo’s quite far. I doubt you can make it in less than a week.” 

Toushirou groaned, feeling his headache take a turn for the worst. “It can’t be a week away, I literally just came from there.” 

The man and the kid exchanged a glance. Then the man took a look around himself. “Please wait, I believe there were some useful hangover herbs in this part of the forest.” 

“You and that brat both, aren’t you capable of listening to what people are saying?” Toushirou let out a breath. “Fine then, I’ll be on my way to Hagi or whatever.” 

As long as it was out of this bloody forest and far enough away from the weirdos inside it, he was willing to go anywhere. He’d just have to contact Sougo when he reached civilization again. With any luck, the bastard had kept on doing his job and managed to find at least one lead-- 

One moment he was rising from the ground, the next he was back on the floor. He blinked, trying to clear his vision from the multi-colored dots swimming in it. 

He felt something touch the back of his head. 

“As I feared... You might have a concussion,” the man said, looking at his hand that was now wet with blood. Toushirou’s blood. That explained the headache. 

“I’m fine,” Toushirou said. He’d lived through worse. 

The man shook his head and smiled. “You can’t go anywhere in that state.” He crouched and grabbed Toushirou’s arm, slinging it around his shoulders. “Let me take care of that wound first.” 

Well, whatever. Toushirou had a feeling he’d lose more time arguing than just giving the man what he wanted. 

“You’re always picking up the weirdest things, Sensei.” 

Toushirou had almost managed to forget about the kid. Now that he remembered, he felt a new layer of annoyance add up to his general exhaustion. 

“That’s where most of the good surprises lie, Gintoki.” 

The first time he’d heard it, Toushirou had decided he’d misheard. A hit on the head could cause all kinds of auditory illusions. This time, however, he was right next to the man as the name left his lips. As much as he wished for the contrary, Toushirou knew he hadn’t hit his head so hard as to hear the same auditory illusion twice. 

Which meant—

“Kid,” he called as they made their way through the forest. “Your name’s Gintoki?” 

The kid nodded. “What about it?” 

Toushirou closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing at all.” 

* * *

“Here.” 

Toushirou accepted the cup of tea with both hands. “Thank you.” 

The man smiled as he sat in front of him, kid by his side. “You should feel better after a day or two of rest.” 

Toushirou gave a dismissive nod before looking around. “So, where is this place?” 

“Oh, you’re right. I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I? This is the Shouka Sonjuku Academy. My name is Yoshida Shouyou and I serve as its founder and teacher.” He brought a hand to the kid’s head, ruffling his hair. “And this is my first disciple, Gintoki.” 

“Stop that,” the kid grumbled, batting his teacher’s hand away. 

“I see,” Toushirou said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m Hijikata Toushirou.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hijikata-san,” Yoshida said. After a moment of silence, he added, “I must say, I’ve never seen clothes like these before. Are you not from around here?” 

“He said he came from Edo twenty paragraphs ago,” the kid reminded.

He was promptly ignored. 

Toushirou put down his cup. “I don’t suppose the name Shinsengumi means anything to you?” 

They both blinked. “Is it a new fashion trend?” Yoshida asked. 

_A fashion—_

Toushirou rubbed his face to hide a grimace. “Not exactly, no.” 

He picked up his cup, took another gulp to brace himself then put it down again. Deep breaths, he could do this. 

“I might sound mad but I have to ask,” he said. “What year is it?” 

“It’s 1854,” Yoshida said, cocking his head to the side. “Why?” 

It was funny how a number could cut deeper than a sword when used in the right context. Toushirou buried his face in his hands. 

Fifteen years. He’d somehow tripped into spacetime and ended up _fifteen years_ into the past. 

“Um, are you alright...?” 

“I’m fine,” Toushirou said, forgetting to take the hilarity out of his voice. “Totally fine. Couldn’t be better.” 

“You’re a warrior?” 

He looked up at the question. The kid was staring at the sword on his hip with gauging eyes. 

“Something like that.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment before a fist to the head made him sink into the floor. His pained yelp was accompanied by the sound of wood cracking. 

“Gintoki, what have I told you about challenging injured people to a duel?” Yoshida asked pleasantly. 

The kid climbed out of the pile of broken wood planks. “I didn’t even say anything!” 

“You were thinking about it.” 

“Doesn’t mean I’d have done it!” The kid complained as he rubbed an ominously big bump on the top of his head. “And now we have to repair the floor again.” 

“You’re right,” Yoshida said, observing the damage as if he hadn’t been the cause of it. “Could you go and grab us some spare planks?” 

The kid scowled but still complied, a mutter of, “I swear he’s gonna destroy the dojo someday,” on his lips as he left. 

Yoshida turned back to face Toushirou. “I’m sorry about him, he’s just so energetic.” 

Toushirou was starting to see the man’s easy smile and apologetic tone in a different light. A different, more dangerous light. “It’s alright,” he said, hiding his nervousness behind his cup of tea. 

“He can be a little rude but he’s got a good heart.” The man’s eyes turned fond. 

Toushirou put down his cup. “Is he your only disciple?” 

“No, there are others but they have gone home for the day.” 

“Doesn’t he go home as well?” 

Yoshida smiled. “In his case, home is here.” 

Toushirou gazed at the empty room save for the two of them. The school’s dojo, with a wide space of wooden emptiness and a scent of exercise and sweat. The sound of the breeze, rustling the wind chimes. The taste of green tea. 

He looked at the sliding doors of the entrance, left open on the view of rice fields. 

How nostalgic. 

“Is...” He hesitated, although, in a way, he already knew. “Is his family name Sakata?” 

Yoshida looked both surprised and puzzled. “He doesn’t have a family name.” 

Toushirou blinked. “He doesn’t?” 

Had he been wrong after all? 

When Yoshida smiled this time, it didn’t look as cheerful. “This child is an orphan. He couldn’t remember neither his name nor age when we met, so we had to find a name ourselves.” 

Toushirou was about to ask why they couldn’t have come up with a surname as well when he remembered: this was fifteen years into the past. Only people of samurai descents had been allowed to have a surname during these times. 

Sakata must have been a post-war addition. 

“It wasn’t easy, actually,” Yoshida continued. “I made a few suggestions but it was hard to make him accept any of them. A shame, I still think Silver J. Fox would have been a pretty good choice.” 

“Your naming sense is terrible.” 

“In any case,” the man said, ignoring the remark. “It’s already quite late. Would you rather eat dinner with us or go rest instead?” 

“I can’t impose on you,” was Toushirou's knee-jerk response. “Besides, I have to find a way to go back.” 

A hand over his arm stopped him from standing up. “Please stay the night at least, you need to rest.” 

Toushirou hesitated, searching for a way to refuse him. 

Yoshida smiled. “It’s so rare for us to have guests, I’m sure Gintoki wants you to stay as well.” 

The name made something catch in his throat and he sat back with a sigh. “Fine,” he relented. “I’m in your debt.” He doubted he could find a time machine to get back to his own timeline so soon anyway. 

“Great!” Yoshida exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “We have some onigiri that my student made, if you’d like.” 

“No thanks,” Toushirou said. “I don't feel very hungry right now.” 

A nod. “Understandable.” He stood up, gesturing to the doors. “Come, let me show you to your room. It’s not much but I hope you’ll find it to your liking.” 

Toushirou snorted as he rose. “At this point, I’d be glad to sleep on the floor.” 

“Really? Great, because that’s all we have.” 

“...Eh?” 

* * *

For someone usually wary of strangers, Toushirou slept surprisingly well that night. When he woke up, stirring with the sound of birds chirping the coming of dawn, he felt much more clear-headed than before. It still hurt where he’d fallen but it was nothing compared to the pain and confusion of the previous day. 

Now, he had all the clarity of mind to wonder what the hell was going on. How had he ended up in the past? Why here? How was he supposed to get back? 

Was the kid currently staring at him from the doorway really the younger version of that guy? 

“You’re awake,” the kid said, stepping inside the room. 

Toushirou watched him walk closer and sit cross-legged next to his futon. 

“That’s my futon, by the way. You better be grateful I wasn’t around when Shouyou decided to lend it to you.” 

Toushirou looked at that permed nuisance lookalike. The curve of his boyish lips, still too thin. His small nose, typical of preteens. The size of his red eyes, childishly big yet somehow managing to pull off the trademark dead-eyed expression. His silver hair, even messier than the original. 

“You’re really him, aren’t you,” he muttered after a moment. 

The kid— no, _the_ _young Yorozuya_ quirked an eyebrow. “You’re still concussed, aren’t you.” 

“I always wondered if you were born annoying,” Toushirou said. “Now I have my answer.” 

“Why are you spouting nonsense so early in the morning? You still half asleep?” 

“Shut up, I never signed up for this.” 

He may have been the tiniest bit curious about that idiot’s past, but he'd never meant to find out about it quite so literally. 

“Are people in Edo all weirdos like you?” 

He snorted. “Says the weirdest one of all.” 

“Oi,” Mini Yorozuya said, frowning. “Why do you keep talking like you know me?” 

Toushirou stayed silent for a moment before sitting up. “You’re right, I don’t know anything about you.” 

He'd never known that the man called Sakata Gintoki had been an orphan. Never known about his teacher, Yoshida Shouyou and the school they’d both lived in. Never known about his later added family name, or about his self-attributed first name. 

He’d never really known anything about that guy, had he? 

“And you probably wouldn’t have ever told me,” he muttered to himself. 

“Helloo?” Mini Yorozuya called, waving a hand in front of Toushirou. “Are you talking to a ghost or something?” 

The moment the question left his lips, the kid’s entire frame froze, face going pale. 

Toushirou sent him a look. 

“...Did you really just scare yourself?” 

“N-No,” Mini Yorozuya stuttered out. “I— Shut up, you’re annoying.” 

Bringing a hand to the kid’s forehead, Toushirou gave him a flick of his fingers. “That’s my line, midget.” 

Mini Yorozuya yelped, rubbing his forehead as he stood up and glared. “Bastard, how dare you touch me!” He grabbed Toushirou’s shirt with an angry fist. “I’ll cut you down!” 

Toushirou grinned. “Oh? Bring it on, pipsqueak. I can’t wait to finally hand you your ass.” 

“Don’t look down on me cause I’m a kid, you’ll regret it.” 

“How else am I supposed to look at you? Come back when you’re actually more than three feet tall.” 

“You—” 

Their staring match got interrupted by a pair of fists knocking them out. Toushirou immediately grabbed his skull, urging the stars floating around it to stop spinning already. 

“No fighting with a resting man,” Yoshida said, smile still in place. “You’ll aggravate his injuries, Gintoki.” 

Toushirou wanted to point out that the one really doing the aggravating wasn’t the kid, in this case, but his mouth wasn’t working well at the moment. 

“You’re the one doing the aggravating here!” Mini Yorozuya said, and Toushirou didn’t know if he should feel glad someone was protesting in his stead or annoyed that they’d both been thinking the same thing, _again._

“Everyone’s here already,” Yoshida continued, unfazed. “We’re waiting for you, Gintoki.” 

Then, he turned toward Toushirou. “Morning is for sword practice, would you like to come and see?” 

* * *

Toushirou got acquainted with the feeling of being a high school rom-com protagonist transferring into a new school when Yoshida introduced him to the entirety of his students, asked them to ‘treat him well’ and happily clapped his hands at the end. Except that in his case, the students were fifteen years younger than him while the teacher must be his age, and he wasn’t transferring into a school as much as he had time-traveled in it. 

What kind of rom-com was this even supposed to be? 

He settled in a corner of the room as the kids grabbed their shinai and started swinging them, pretending not to sneak glances at him every other second: nevermind the fact that the way they kept accidentally hitting each other was making their attempts at stealth rather useless. 

Only one kid had the guts to actually walk up to him. Long black hair tied up in a ponytail, straightforward eyes, and overall attitude that felt strangely familiar. 

“I made that onigiri,” he said. 

Toushirou glanced at the half-eaten onigiri currently in his hand. He looked back at the kid. “It’s not bad,” he offered. 

“I’m not asking for your opinion on it.” 

Toushirou quirked a brow. “Then what?” 

“I’m saying that I made that onigiri, and I don’t make onigiri for people who won’t even state their name before helping themselves to one.” 

Toushirou frowned. “Your teacher introduced me just a minute ago.” 

“I wasn’t listening.” 

“You’re admitting that awfully calmly, oi.” 

He outstretched a hand. “Give it back. I won’t allow a nameless samurai to taste the fruit of my labor.” 

_Give_ _it_ _back_ _,_ he said, but how was Toushirou supposed to give back something he’d already eaten? Unlike some people in this show, he wasn’t one to puke his guts out every other day. 

“As far as I know, you’re just as nameless as I am,” he said. 

The kid was unfazed. “Grandmother said that people who won't introduce themselves first aren’t worth introducing yourself to.” 

“You do realize that applies to both me and you.” 

“She also said that V-bangs are evil.” 

“Just what kind of life did your Grandma live?” 

The kid insisted with his hand, keeping mute. Toushirou was starting to realize that Mini Yorozuya and his teacher weren’t the only weirdos around. This little guy also seemed like a great pain in the ass. 

“Hijikata Toushirou,” he finally said, his desire to get it over with and grub in peace overcoming his pettiness at being called out by a brat. 

The kid looked at him for a little longer then nodded, hand retreating. “Katsura Kotarou.” 

The onigiri made a pitiful _splat_ sound as it fell to the floor. 

“Ah, my onigiri!” The kid crouched, picking up the remains. “How dare you! I thought you said it wasn’t bad!” 

“Oi, Zura,” Mini Yorozuya called from afar. “Stop bothering with that guy and gimme one too.” 

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!” The kid walked up to him and handed him what was left of Toushirou’s onigiri. “Here, you can have this one.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Mini Yorozuya said as he took it. Then, he splattered it all over the kid's face. “As if! What am I, a dog?!” 

The kid was stunned for a moment before he grabbed Mini Yorozuya’s collar. “You’re worse than a dog! At least a dog knows not to waste food!” 

“Then why don’t _you_ eat it!” 

Toushirou watched as the pair argued back and forth, the surrounding kids interrupting their training to cheer them on. 

He’d always known that Katsura and the Yorozuya knew each other. Even before he’d known about that guy being the Shiroyasha, who'd fought alongside the rebel, he’d known. Ever since that Ikedaya incident where he’d first seen them involved with each other, he’d known.

He’d always known, but he’d never imagined that they’d literally grown up together. 

Toushirou would have never thought he’d one day be faced with the young version of his modern time nemesis. It took all the rationality left in him to refrain from drawing his sword at the sole mention of that name. 

It was _Katsura_ , for God’s sake. 

“You seem to have instigated quite the conflict,” Yoshida said as he approached. “Not that it’s anything unusual.” 

“That— Is that kid really Katsura?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“Oh, you’ve heard of him before?” Yoshida smiled. “He does make good onigiri.” 

Toushirou had heard of him all right, but it certainly had nothing to do with his onigiri making skills. 

“That’s right,” he said, letting out a hollow chuckle that sounded just the tiniest bit hysterical. 

If he noticed something amiss, Yoshida didn’t comment on it. “Do you feel better now?” He asked instead. 

“Yeah, thanks to you,” Toushirou replied truthfully. After a short moment of silence, he added, “Don’t you have a lesson to give?” 

Yoshida laughed, even as Mini Yorozuya and Mini Katsura started brawling in the middle of the excited crowd. “The most important lessons are self-taught.” 

Toushirou sent him a side glance. “That sounds like an excuse to laze on the job.” He'd been around Sougo for long enough to know when something was off. 

“Ah, you found out.” 

Yoshida laughed again, unrepentant. Toushirou observed him for a moment. 

This was the man who’d raised the Yorozuya he’d get to meet in the future. His parental figure. A strange man who'd picked up a wounded stranger without a second thought, trusting him enough to let him sleep on his school grounds. 

Yoshida Shouyou. There could only be two reasons why he hadn’t heard that name before. Either the Yorozuya and he had eventually drifted apart along the course of time, or... 

“Gintoki, fight me.” 

The room fell silent at the voice. Toushirou turned to see another kid, dark purple hair and green eyes, staring down at where Mini Yorozuya was laying on the ground. 

“Came for your fifty-fifth loss?” Mini Yorozuya asked with a smirk as he stood up. “Bring it on.” 

“No,” the kid answered as he eased himself into a fighting stance. “I came for my fifty-fifth win.” 

Mini Yorozuya snorted. They stood facing each other, shinai in hand. Mini Katsura wiped the thin trail of blood coming out of his nose and positioned himself in between them, an arm going up. 

“Keep the sleep talk for when you’re dreaming, Takasugi.” 

The arm came down, Mini Katsura shouting, “Start!” and prompting them to jump at each other. 

Under any other circumstances, Toushirou would have enjoyed watching the younger version of that monster of a guy show off his skills in a serious match. However, right now, his focus was elsewhere. 

He must have misheard that. He must have. 

“Takasugi Shinsuke,” he breathed out, only partially meaning it as a question. 

Yoshida looked at him with a sidelong glance. He must have noticed how rigid Toushirou’s entire frame had turned, for his smile was nothing like his usual one when he answered. 

“Indeed,” he said, voice low. “Have you heard of him as well?” 

Toushirou forced himself to let go of the tension in his shoulders. Forced his jaw and fists to unclench. Forced his face back to one of a normal person. 

“No,” he lied. “I haven’t.” 

* * *

The taste of his first smoke since the beginning of his ordeal felt better than anything he’d ever had. He breathed out the smoke with a contented sigh, enjoying the brief moment of peace as he sat on the porch. The sound of insects could be heard from the fields, high grass fluttering softly with the wind. 

Toushirou had forgotten how time seemed to slow down in the countryside. Memories of his younger days floated in the air, filling his senses with a strange mix of both melancholy and calm. 

“What’s that smoke coming out of your mouth?” 

Toushirou looked up at the now-familiar sound of Mini Yorozuya's voice. The kid sat down next to him, staring curiously at the cigarette between his lips. 

“Not something for a kid like you,” Toushirou said. 

“What?” Mini Yorozuya frowned. “That makes me even more curious now.” 

“Which doesn’t make me any more likely to tell you,” Toushirou said, nonchalant. “Besides, shouldn’t you be listening to your teach instead of being here?” 

“The most important lessons are self-taught.” 

Of course. Of all the lessons, it had to be this one the student had learned from his teacher. 

“That sounds like an excuse to ditch class.” 

“Cause it is,” the kid agreed. 

Toushirou couldn’t help a snort. “Figures you were born lazy.” 

“You’re saying weird things again.” 

“I wonder,” Toushirou said, breathing out another trail of smoke with a grin. 

Mini Yorozuya furrowed his brows but didn’t comment further. 

“What’s it like in Edo?” He asked after a moment. 

Toushirou shrugged. “Busy.” 

“Do you also have samurai there?” 

He was tempted to laugh. “If you can call that bunch of weirdos ‘samurai’, then yeah, sure.” 

“Are you a samurai?” 

Toushirou looked at him, then up at the sky. He brought his cigarette down. 

“Samurai, huh...” He took a moment to think. “I'm—” 

“Gotcha!” 

Toushirou blinked, confused, until he looked at his hand and realized it was empty. The kid was grinning smugly, cigarette caught between his fingers. 

“Heh, you’re no samurai if you let your guard down so easily.” He brought the cigarette to his lips in a poor imitation of what Toushirou had done previously. 

“Wha– Idiot, give that back!” Toushirou tried to catch the kid's arm but the damn midget ducked. “It’s not for kids!” 

“That’s what Natori Ossan said when I took his porn books,” the permed nuisance sing-sung, thinking he was smart. 

“Who the hell is Natori?” Toushirou finally pinned the kid to the ground. “This is different, smoking's bad for you.” 

“He’s the dango shop's owner,” the kid cheekily replied, cigarette refusing to leave his hand. “And he’s much better than you at coming up with lies. Why are you doing it if it’s bad?” 

“Because I’m a grown-up who knows what he’s doing while you’re a brat who needs to learn to listen to his elders.” Toushirou grabbed the hand and struggled to get the cigarette out of it. What was up with this kid's grip anyway? That level of strength at his age should be illegal. 

Somewhere during their arm-wrestling match, the cigarette slipped from both of their grasps. Toushirou watched it fall in slow motion and saw the moment it would land into the kid's eye. Out of pure reflex, he caught it in a hand before it could reach the kid. The lit-up tip burned his palm as he crushed it under his fingers. He let out a pained curse and threw it away, blowing soothing breaths over his reddened skin. 

Mini Yorozuya watched the crushed stub fall to the ground. He sat up, looking at Toushirou’s hand. 

“...Why?” He asked. 

“Why what?” Toushirou barked. 

The kid looked down, and for the briefest fraction of a second, Toushirou was tempted to think he was feeling sorry. However, all his assumptions flew out of the window when the brat looked up with a scowl and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Why did you let me handle it if you knew it was dangerous?! I could’ve burned myself right there!” 

“You— I _told_ you it was dangerous!” 

“You told me it was _bad_ , not _dangerous_!” 

“Why you—!” 

The sound of hands clapping together interrupted their arguing. Yoshida was approaching them, a pleasant smile on his face as he made to sit down next to Mini Yorozuya. 

“You sound like you’re having fun,” he said. 

“We’re not,” they both replied at the same time, immediately glaring at each other afterward. 

Yoshida laughed, bringing up a hand to ruffle the kid's hair. “It’s rare to see you so energetic, Gintoki. I do disapprove of you skipping class to have fun with your new friend though.” 

“We’re not friends,” Mini Yorozuya snapped as he batted his teacher's hand away. “Also stop doing that!” 

“Doing what?” Yoshida asked as he ruffled the kid's hair again, either completely oblivious or really good at faking it. 

The student stood and grabbed his teacher’s hand in a fierce grip. With his other hand, he pointed at it. “ _T_ _hat._ ” 

Yoshida blinked. “Oh, that?” 

“Yeah, that.” 

Yoshida smiled at him for a moment before effortlessly releasing his hand from the kid's grip and plunging it back into the mess of silver curls. 

“But it’s so soft, it'd feel like a waste.” 

Mini Yorozuya let out a deep sigh and sat back with a pout. “Fine, then, do what you want.” 

As they all three sat there, Yoshida still patting his student’s head with a little hum, Toushirou wondered what he was seeing. He could hear the muffled sound of laughter coming from the students of the dojo, who were most likely goofing off instead of practicing now that their teacher was gone. He could smell the scent of the fading summer, the peace of an autumn sun. He could feel the small bite in the center of his palm, the remnant of his burn. 

He could see a scenery he never should have been able to see. A memory of a time long gone. A stolen moment of intimacy. 

But more than anything, he could see the silver-haired child's eyes; the softness within them. The subtle upturn of his lips as he let his teacher run his fingers through his hair, the lightness in the way his eyebrows settled upon his face. The relaxed shoulders Toushirou hadn’t realized had been kept tense for the entire day. 

He could see the child's love for this man. An unbridled, unhidden expression of love, so strong it took over the boy's entire frame. 

A Sakata Gintoki he’d never seen before. 

As if to prepare them for the upcoming interruption, a wind chime jingled. 

“Gintoki,” a student said as he peeked his head through the door. “Takasugi’s badmouthing you, saying that you keep losing because your footwork’s as messy as your hair!” 

The peaceful expression on the kid’s face disappeared in a flash. “What?!” He jerked upright and threw the door open. “What’s that guy talking about? He’s the one who keeps losing. And my hair’s not messy!” 

Both Yoshida and Toushirou watched him go back into the dojo, shouting an angry, “Takasugi!” to the amusement of the student who’d come fetch him. Thankfully enough, said student had the presence of mind to close the door again as they left, restoring some of the tranquillity they’d lost. 

Toushirou lit himself another cigarette. Yoshida didn’t comment on it. 

“Thank you,” the man said out of the blue. 

Toushirou sent him a glance. “What for?” 

“This child, you might be the very first adult who’s ever treated him as an equal.” 

He shrugged at the smile he was offered. “Isn’t it natural to treat a kid as a kid? I might be the odd one here.” The only reason he was allowing himself to banter with a kid was because, from his point of view, that guy _wasn’t_ a kid. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Yoshida said, chuckling. “Of course a child can’t be addressed as an adult.” 

“Then why use the word ‘equal’?” 

Yoshida’s eyes dimmed. “I meant that you’re the first one not to look down at him in contempt. This world can be quite cruel to nameless orphans.” A smile. “He won’t ever say it, but he’s intrigued by you, Hijikata-san.” 

Toushirou let the implication of those words sink in with a puff of smoke. “Equals, huh...” 

Sakata Gintoki was a man beyond comprehension. As much as Toushirou liked to imagine the contrary, the silver-haired man had more layers to his character than his jellyfish looking mug would first lead to believe. There was a depth to his wine eyes that Toushirou couldn’t and would never pretend to understand completely. A man of unknown, of mystery, of things kept unsaid beneath the veil of apathy. 

Toushirou admittedly didn’t know much about that man, but he liked to think that they could share moments when they could see eye to eye on a reasonable level. An exchanged drink under a sakura tree, a knowing glance louder than words could be, an appreciation for the same bar owner and his menu’s flexibility. So many little instances where they could do a half-smile and almost be tempted to admit to each other that they were ‘not half bad’. 

Toushirou liked to think that, sometimes at least, they could be equals and maybe even more than that. 

He grinned.

"Sounds about right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::Start of boring list of boring facts::
> 
> Liberty number 1: So, in the anime, Gintoki already has the surname Sakata, but I liked the idea that it came afterward, considering that most of the commoners weren't supposed to have surnames at the time. AND also because when they're kids, they all call themselves by their surnames (Takasugi, Katsura...) while only Gintoki is called by his first name? So I guess he didn't have one yet *shrugs*
> 
> Liberty number 2: Considering that most of Shouyou's disciples are orphans (or in Takasugi's case, disowned), there probably should be more than just Gintoki claiming the school as his home, but, well, screw that. Makes my life easier.
> 
> History facts: Since the real-life counterpart of Yoshida Shouyou died in 1859, I considered that his death marked the end of the ten years war and that present time Gintama would be 1869 (mid Edo Period), which makes Hijikata's little visit to happen in 1854 (Gintoki is around 12ish). Also, the real-life Shouka Sonjuku Academy was located in Hagi, Yamaguchi Prefecture. (Thanks to Writing_In_Sin for teaching me various things about that!) (And thanks to Yatagarasu for clearing up the timeline for me!)
> 
> ::End of boring list of boring facts::
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, more coming soon!


	2. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just rewatched Assassination arc and now I'm crying.

Lunch at the Shouka Shonjuku academy was something else. There was nothing too grand on the table, as Toushirou had learned that most of the children were poor, orphaned, or simply lower rank than the typical samurai family. It didn’t stop them from being a loud bunch of energy though, and before he knew it, Toushirou found himself reminded of the barracks' canteen. It was as funny as it was painful, for it drove home the point that he currently wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

As he left the room to get a breath of fresh air, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to get himself out of here. He also wondered if Kondou was worried about him, or if Sougo had weaved a thread of lies to keep him forgotten forever. Maybe it was Sougo’s fault all of this had happened. He’d never suspected the brat to have time-twisting powers, but at this point, he wouldn’t put it past him to stumble upon a time machine and use it on him of all things. 

He clicked his tongue as he reached the porch. If he thought about it clearly, it was all Katsura’s fault this had happened. And yet, here he was, sharing a meal with the Mini Katsura version. Just what was wrong with this universe? 

Not to mention–

Toushirou stopped in his tracks. Talk about the devil, here he was, just around the corner of the dojo and washing his face over a water basin. 

Takasugi Shinsuke. 

Toushirou didn’t make his presence known. He studied the child like he would a prey, falcon eyes taking in every single movement. He hadn’t seen a grown Takasugi often, but he’d heard enough of his feats and confronted his group enough times for his body to grow rigid. He thought back to all the dreadful crimes, all the lives lost; some of which were of his own men. 

Toushirou didn’t know if he’d time-traveled for real or if it was all just a lucid dream of his. He didn’t know if anything would change in any case, even if it was real. Maybe he'd even make it worse. Toushirou knew the maybes. 

Even so, he found his hand inching over the handle of his sword; thinking that right here, right now, he could easily get rid of the most wanted Edo criminal. 

“That’s some impressive amount of bloodlust.” 

His entire body froze. Something cold had crept up behind him, using Yoshida's voice, but Toushirou knew better. The presence behind him wasn’t that of a man; it was that of a monster. 

“Were you about to draw?” The presence said, practically whispering in his ear with how close it was standing. Toushirou wondered how he hadn’t even felt him approach. 

Under the pressure building up at his back, he forced his hand to go away and his lungs to breathe again. Ignoring the loud and louder beats of his heart, he gulped, urging himself to relax. 

“No,” he said. 

The monster relaxed as well, letting some of his menacing aura disappear. “That’s a relief.” 

The presence faded completely and when Toushirou looked back, only Yoshida was left smiling at him. 

“Lunch is about to end,” the man said. “Would you like to come and join us for the afternoon class?” 

Once again, Toushirou found himself wondering who Yoshida Shouyou really was. 

* * *

Once again, Toushirou found himself wondering what he was doing here. Sitting at the back of a classroom and listening to a calligraphy lesson was not how he’d predicted to spend his day. Then again, it wasn’t like he had much else to do, what with being thrown into a timeline that wasn’t his and where he couldn’t get even a hint of a phone signal. 

So, instead of doing anything useful, he was stuck staring at Yoshida teach his students how to spell the word 'banana' even though half of them had probably never even seen one. They didn’t seem to mind though, diligently following their teacher’s instructions. 

Looking at the gentle smile on the man's face as he addressed his students, Toushirou had trouble reconciling the Yoshida in front of him with the beast he’d met earlier. 

A small object hit him near the eye. He looked down to see it was a piece of crumpled paper. He opened it to see a bunch of messily drawn characters. 

_Ossan_ _, what are you still doing here?_ It read. 

Toushirou decided to be the grown-up of the pair and simply ignore it. He stored the paper in his pocket to throw away later and went back to observing Yoshida. 

Another paper hit him, in the eye this time. Toushirou opened it. 

_Why're you so focused? You look funny._

Screw being a grown-up. He sent a glare the permed idiot’s way and threw the paper back at him. 

The idiot ducked and grinned. 

After five more small projectiles landing around his face, Toushirou decided he'd had enough. Taking out his police notebook and pocket pen, he tore a piece of paper and wrote something before crumpling it and sending it the brat's way. 

_Stop it._

Another piece of paper hit him. 

_Stop what?_

Toushirou felt tempted to grab his lighter and burn the paper. He wrote a response instead. 

_That._

He got a response to his response. 

_Oh, that?  
_

Toushirou summoned the last straw of his patience. 

_Yeah, that._

The last straw of his patience felt dangerously close to snapping when yet another projectile hit him in the cheek. 

_But it's so fun, it'd feel like a waste.  
_

There, it just snapped. Toushirou didn’t take the time to write anything as he all but flung his notebook at the brat. 

“Hijikata-san,” Yoshida said, interrupting him mid-glare. “I appreciate you being invested in this lesson but I don’t think throwing objects at my students is the best way to go about it.” 

“You should be telling that to this brat,” Toushirou fumed, aiming an accusatory finger Mini Yorozuya's way. 

Yoshida cocked his head, a smile that looked both innocent and ominous on his lips. “Gintoki’s sleeping though?” 

Toushirou looked over to see the brat making a crappy imitation of a snore. _That damn–_

“If you have such an important thing to say, why don’t you share it with the entirety of the class?” 

He stayed speechless for a moment, wondering if what was currently happening was real or just a weird-ass ‘Class Z: Hijikata-sensei’ spin-off he hadn’t been told about. Either way, he eventually relented and stood up. Yoshida wanted him to come up and make a speech? Fine. Perfectly fine. He’d show that giggling Yorozuya brat in the corner what provoking Hijikata Toushirou, Demonic Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi, truly meant. 

Once he’d walked up to Yoshida's side, he swept a glance over the room. Multiple pairs of eyes looked up at him with either curiosity, mistrust, or both, before a single dark glare made them look back down at their notebooks. 

Toushirou buried his hands in his pockets, mustered his inner vice-chief charisma, and spoke. “Listen, you brats, and listen well: what you’re all lacking is discipline.” 

“That’s rich coming from someone who was playing around in class just a second ago.” 

Toushirou looked at Yoshida. Yoshida smiled. 

Toushirou cleared his throat and picked up again. “Some people will tell you won’t get anywhere without money or a high background, but that’s bullshit. People who only rely on those will never amount to anything. What really matters is discipline.” He waited a beat to drive his point, then continued. “With a disciplined mind and a disciplined body, nothing can stand in your way. You have to find the strength to resist the pull of your own demons, the discipline to train every morning without break, to do your duty until you’re completely spent, to not give in to a mayonnaise break in the middle of a stakeout...” 

A student lifted his hand. “Hijikata-sensei, that last example doesn’t make sense.” 

“To achieve that level of discipline,” Toushirou continued, “you have to have stakes. Every action has consequences, even passivity. That's why anyone failing to respect their own code of discipline should commit seppuku.” 

The entire class fell deadly silent. 

“Hijikata-san,” Yoshida attempted. “Isn’t seppuku a little harsh on children?” 

Toushirou shook his head. “You’re too soft, Yoshida-san. They need to learn what responsibility means, or else they’ll all grow up to be lazy, stubborn, shameless, and jobless silver permed samurai bums.” 

“Oi, is that supposed to be aimed at me?” Mini Yorozuya protested from the back of the room. 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Yoshida assured him. “Only one of them has silver hair.” 

_“Oi!”_

Toushirou gave him a dubious look then shrugged. “You’re the teacher.” 

“Alright, everyone,” Yoshida called with a clap of his hands. “Hijikata-san may sound scary, but he isn’t wrong. Discipline is an important part of your growth as individuals.” 

Toward the end of his sentence, his tone turned more serious. More genuine. “It will help you forge a strong soul and fight the weakness within you, lead you to become the samurai you want to be.” 

Try as he might, Toushirou couldn’t put a name on the expression on the man’s face. Another missing piece of the ever-growing puzzle that was Yoshida Shouyou. 

“And now, let's go back to writing banana.” 

...A puzzling man indeed. 

* * *

Once again, only one kid had the guts to walk up to Toushirou after their teacher called for recess. 

Toushirou stared, offering his most intimidating glare. The kid stared back, unaffected. 

“Shouyou-sensei always tells us that we shouldn’t fight to take down enemies but to protect,” Mini Katsura said. “What about you?” 

Toushirou’s eyebrow twitched. “What about me?” 

“Do you fight to kill or to protect?” 

_I fight to_ _put you behind bars,_ he refrained from saying. “Both, I guess.” 

The kid looked unsatisfied. “What do you protect?” 

_The Shinsengumi._ Again, an answer he couldn’t give. 

He shrugged. “Something that isn’t here yet.” 

Mini Katsura furrowed his brows, visibly confused. Toushirou couldn’t blame him. He was still confused himself, to be honest. 

“Something that isn’t here yet?” The kid repeated. 

In trying to come up with something to say, Toushirou’s eyes drifted over to the back of the classroom to settle on a small tuft of silver hair. 

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. 

“No,” he corrected. “I guess part of it is here already.” 

The kid turned in the direction Toushirou was looking before facing back again, arms crossed. “You’re a strange one, Hijikata Toushirou.” 

Toushirou quirked an eyebrow, then smirked. 

“So they say.” 

* * *

“You’re leaving?” 

Toushirou looked up at the voice. Mini Yorozuya was lounging over a branch, sheathed sword hugged loosely against his chest. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” Toushirou asked, puffing out some smoke from his second cigarette of the day. 

The kid dropped down from his perch, landing as flawlessly as a cat. “Skipping,” he said with a bored face. 

“Of course.” 

Toushirou took another whiff of his cigarette and started walking again. Mini Yorozuya trotted by his side, humming. 

“Why are you following me?” He eventually asked. 

“No reason,” the kid answered. 

_He won’t ever say it, but he’s intrigued by you, Hijikata-san._

Toushirou snorted. “That so.” 

They saw a great number of rice paddies and tiny houses, occasionally dropping by a shrine or two as they walked along the paths of the Hagi of the past. The weather was clear while remaining fresh, ruffling their clothes and dispersing the smoke of his cigarette through the air. Toushirou felt like he was wandering through a memory, both his own and someone else’s. 

Mini Yorozuya followed him silently, seemingly uninterested, until he caught sight of a small shop at the end of the street. He grabbed Toushirou’s sleeve and ushered him in its direction, calling out to the owner with a wave. “Oi, Natori Ossan! Gimme dango!” 

So that was dango shop and porn books owner Natori? Even as he let himself be pulled along, Toushirou felt sorry for the man. It seemed like the kid wasn’t making his life easier, judging from what he’d heard. 

As expected, Natori grimaced. “I don’t have dango for hit-and-run brats.” 

Mini Yorozuya grinned. “Don’t worry, Ossan.” He pointed a finger at Toushirou. “I brought money this time.” 

“Who’re you calling money?” Toushirou grit out. 

Natori looked Toushirou up and down, trying not to appear too intimidated as he did so. “I’ve never seen you around before.” 

“Just passing through,” Toushirou offered. 

The man sent him a dubious glance. “And you got money for this kid?” 

Toushirou took a moment to consider the question. Next to him, Mini Yorozuya had gone very still, waiting for his answer with bated breath that he was trying and failing to hide under a mask of indifference. 

Well, why the hell not. 

“Give us two plates,” he told the owner, whose face brightened almost as much as the kid’s did. 

They sat at the small bench in front of the store, allowing the man to go fetch their orders. 

“I guess I underestimated you, Ossan.” Mini Yorozuya nodded to himself. “You’re not half bad.” 

Toushirou puffed out more smoke, frowning. “Stop calling me Ossan, it feels weird.” He didn’t want to be called an ossan by a guy who was usually around his age. 

No, actually, he didn’t want to be called an ossan by anybody. He wasn’t that old yet, for heaven’s sake. 

“What should I call you then?” The kid asked, dangling his legs. “As thanks for the dango, I’ll at least listen to your suggestion.” 

“Call me–” _Oogushi-kun? Hijikata-kun? Mayo Freak? V-bangs Bastard? Toushi?_

Why didn’t that prick ever address him _normally?_

Toushirou groaned, rubbing his temples to soothe the incoming irritation-induced headache. “Know what, keep the Ossan. Ossan’s fine. Nice and simple and fine.” 

Mini Yorozuya sent him a look. “...Whatever you say, Ossan.” 

Their dango plates arrived and Toushirou fished out a few coins to hand over to the owner. Before Natori could leave, he stopped him. “Do you have mayonnaise?” 

Natori blinked. “Mayo what?” 

Toushirou let out his deepest sigh yet. “No, nothing.” The day he’d forgotten to stock up on pocket mayo just had to be the day he'd time-traveled. He was beginning to think Sougo really had a hand in this. 

His despair didn’t seem to affect the kid sitting by him, munching contentedly on his dango stick. As he reached for his own dango, Toushirou was struck by a disturbing sense of familiarity; of all the occasions that guy and he had shared a casual snack at their usual dango place, drinking a cup of tea as they watched the sun rise higher of sink lower depending on the time of day. 

This was the same thing. It was the same, yet wholly different. 

As he bit down on his dango, he wondered when he’d get to see the other’s mug again. 

“So, Ossan, what were you doing before you fell?” Mini Yorozuya asked as he licked his fingertips. 

“Working,” Toushirou said. 

“You have a job?” 

“Unlike _some_ , I do.” 

The kid didn’t take the jab, most likely because he didn’t have any reason to take it as he was now. “What kind of job?” 

“Policeman,” Toushirou answered. He couldn’t exactly say Shinsengumi yet. 

It took him longer than it should have to notice that the kid had stiffened. Toushirou stared confusedly as the kid’s grip strengthened around his sword. 

“Policeman, huh...” 

Toushirou frowned. “Oi, what’s–” 

“What’s that kid doing here?” 

They both looked up at the voice. Two men, sword at the hip, were addressing the owner of the dango shop as they sent dark glares their way. One of them sniffed. “Natori, you shouldn’t let that kid into your shop. He’ll bring bad luck.” 

Natori laughed nervously. “Y- You’re right. My bad.” 

Even after Natori’s tentative appeasement, one of them walked closer, looking down directly at the kid with a scowl. “There’re some worrying rumors circulating about this kid and his so-called teacher.” 

Mini Yorozuya met the glare head-on, empty dango stick still caught between his lips. 

“Nasty rumors,” the man continued, “such as that this Yoshida Shouyou person is hiding under the cloth of an educator to feed anti-bakufu propaganda to stray dogs like this one.” 

The owner’s face visibly drained of all color. Meanwhile, the second man walked closer to stand right beside his companion. 

Mini Yorozuya stared at them for another moment, then grinned. He spat out the stick and cocked his head. “Oi oi, what’s all that beating around the bush? You should come straight up and say you’re pissed because I didn’t even break a sweat beating up your son.” He wiggled a brow. “Unless you’re too ashamed to say it aloud?” 

The man’s face twisted into an ugly mix of humiliation and hatred. He drew his sword in a fit of rage. “You insolent pest, I’ll cut you down!” 

Mini Yorozuya smirked as he jumped off the bench, drawing his own sword. “Bring it on, baldie.” 

The moment the man swung down his blade to try and slash at the kid was also the moment Toushirou gulped down his final bite of dango. Sword still sheathed, he blocked the swing. 

“Aren’t we getting a little excited,” he said, tone measured. 

The man retreated, confusion showing on his face as his companion drew his weapon in apprehension. “Who are you?” 

“Me?” Toushirou grinned, enjoying the wariness of their expressions. “I’m–” 

“He’s no one,” the brat said, cutting him off without a shred of remorse. “He’s not even part of our dojo. Your business is with me and me only,” he said, showing off his sword provokingly. 

Although Toushirou wouldn’t admit it, the words got him a little stunned. This kid –threatened, outnumbered, three feet tall _kid_ , was trying to protect him. Trying to get him uninvolved, shouldering the burden alone. 

He almost laughed. 

_You’re really him, aren’t you._

The men seemed to be caught hesitating, wondering if Toushirou was to be considered a threat or not. Toushirou took pity on them and figured he could help them make their decision after he slung his sword out of its sheath, taking one step closer. 

“Better not listen to the brat, he’s got the bad habit of spouting lies.” 

The men turned their entire attention on him. “Who are you?” The first one repeated. 

Giving the kid a side kick before he could think of ruining his cool scene again, Toushirou smirked. “Hijikata Toushirou, Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi.” 

He bent his knees, preparing to lunge. 

“And Teaching Assistant at the Shouka Sonjuku Academy, assholes.” 

* * *

“Sorry for the scare, old man.” 

“It’s fine,” Natori said quickly. “I’m just glad nothing happened.” 

Toushirou huffed. “Right, they ran with their tails between their legs. Boring bunch.” 

Natori stayed silent as he looked at him, his expression begging for something his lips refused to voice. 

“Alright,” Toushirou said, not wanting to make the man more miserable than he surely felt. “We’ll leave. Thanks for the dango.” 

“You’re most welcome,” the owner said, letting out a sigh of relief. 

As they began to trace their steps back to the school, Mini Yorozuya silently following, Toushirou thought he could get a better understanding of the kid’s earlier reaction when he’d told him of his job as a policeman. It seemed like Yoshida’s school was quite famous, and not for the right reasons. Admitting that he was working for the government must not have been a very smart move. 

“Why?” 

Toushirou looked down, almost surprised at the voice. He’d thought the kid would keep silent for the entire trip back. 

“Why what?” 

“Why did you do that?” The kid asked, meeting Toushirou’s eyes. “I didn’t need your help.” 

_That part of you hasn’t changed either,_ Toushirou thought. 

“Who said I did it to help you?” He lit himself a new cigarette. “They were pissing me off, that’s all.” 

Mini Yorozuya considered him as he let out a puff of smoke. Then, he looked away and smiled. 

Toushirou realized with a not so small amount of shock that this was the kid’s first genuinely happy smile. Not snarky, not smug, not provoking. Just happy, in its own childish way. 

He didn’t know what to make of that knowledge, so he settled for looking away himself. 

* * *

When they reached the entrance of the dojo, Takasugi Shinsuke was waiting for them. Leaning on the bamboo fence, he welcomed them with an impressively unwelcoming stare. 

“Shouyou’s been looking for you,” he told Mini Yorozuya. 

Mini Yorozuya shrugged, looking smug. “When is he not?” 

Takasugi’s eyebrow twitched. Instead of answering, his eyes drifted to something behind them, widening slightly. “Ah, Sensei, you’re back.” 

Mini Yorozuya was gone faster than a bolt of lightning. 

Toushirou turned around, seeing no trace of anyone being back. When he faced him again, Takasugi was staring holes at him. 

“I don’t trust you,” he said. 

Toushirou almost snorted. “Feeling’s mutual,” he said instead. 

The kid’s frown deepened. “Who sent you?” 

Toushirou quirked a brow. “I wonder.” 

An hour ago, he would have had no idea what this was about. After his little squabble with that pair of cowards, however, he had an inkling. 

Takasugi’s glare turned so fierce it could burn someone. “I don’t know who you are, but if you so much as take one step in the wrong direction, I won’t stay put.” 

It was tempting to laugh at the idea of a kid half his size threatening him, but Toushirou had seen with his own two eyes what the man this kid would grow up to be was capable of doing. 

“I’m not here to harm your teacher or his school, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He took another whiff of his cigarette. “I won’t punish someone who’s done no wrongs.” 

The tension in the kid’s shoulders seemed to ease a little, but his suspicion didn’t abate. “You’re after Gintoki, then.” 

Toushirou almost choked himself with smoke. After a couple of seconds spent coughing his lungs out, he sent a glare the kid’s way. “Could you _not_ put that kind of weird images in my head?” 

“What then?” The kid asked, furrowing his brows. “What did you come here for?” 

What had he come here for, good question. One to which Toushirou had no bloody idea what the answer was. Why had he been hurled fifteen years into the past, five hundred miles from Edo and right in front of that annoying bastard’s preteen face? 

He thought back to everything he’d seen. The dojo, the city, the fields. The students and the spars, the food and the lessons. The friends. The teacher. 

The bonds. 

“Same as you, I guess,” Toushirou said as he stubbed his cigarette. “I came to learn.” 

Learn about the stories left unsaid. 

* * *

The meal they shared over dinner couldn’t be simpler; a bowl of rice and some condiments. Yet, as Toushirou sat next Yoshida and his silver-haired student, he found he didn’t mind. Even without mayonnaise, the peaceful sound of chopsticks as they dug into their food was filling in itself. 

At some point, Yoshida's eyes snapped wide open in realization. “I forgot to feed the cats.” 

The kid sent him a sidelong glance as the man stood up and excused himself. 

Toushirou munched on his food, watching him disappear behind the sliding doors. “So you even got cats, huh.” 

The kid let out something between a snort and a sigh. “That guy will pick up anything,” he said, sounding both fond and disapproving. “Even someone like me.” 

Toushirou's eyebrow twitched. He brought his hand to the kid's head and gave him a flick on the forehead. “What do you mean, _even_ someone like you? Don’t say things that make me lose my appetite.” 

The kid let out a pained yelp at the contact before he came back full force with a glare. “Oi, I told you not to do that.” 

Unfortunately for him, Toushirou felt either too tired or too content to take the bait. Instead, he gave a half-smile and continued to dig into his bowl. 

“That’s a nice a family you’ve got there, Yorozuya,” he said between two bites. “I guess coming here wasn’t so bad, after all.” 

“Who’s Yorozuya?” The kid asked, arching an eyebrow in confusion. 

Toushirou shrugged knowingly, scraping the side of his bowl. 

The kid leaned his head over a hand, observing Toushirou silently. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled by the hand over his lips. 

“There’s still space, you know.” 

Toushirou looked at him. “Space?” 

The kid looked away, bangs shadowing his face. 

“Here.” 

Toushirou was about to take another bite of rice, but he lowered his chopsticks at the word. He looked at that younger Yorozuya, one who he’d only known for a day and who’d only known him for a day. A kid that was inviting him to stay either way. 

Inviting him to join his family. 

“Too late for that,” Toushirou said, putting down his bowl. 

The kid looked down. “I see.” 

It was interesting to notice how the grown-up version of the Yorozuya was infinitely better of hiding his emotions than this one. Years of practice, he supposed. Years that this kid didn’t have, as Toushirou could see the disappointment sipping out of his carefully blank face. 

He poked a finger over the kid’s chest, pointing at his heart. “Too late, cause I’m already here.” 

Mini Yorozuya stared at his finger, wide-eyed, until he looked up with a frown. “That’s some confidence you have.” 

Toushirou picked up his bowl. “Whether you want it or not, I’ll grab myself a spot in there.” He gave a half-smile. “Wait for me until then.” 

A quirk of a brow. “Here you go, saying strange things again.” 

“Heh.” 

Toushirou finished his meal by the time Yoshida came back. 

* * *

“Hijikata-san.” 

Toushirou stopped in his tracks. He had just been coming back from his last cigarette break for the day, an intimate smoke exchange with the moon and its cloudy sky, when he'd heard the soft call. Looking sideways, he saw Yoshida in another room gesture for him to come over with a hand. 

As he entered the room, he noticed that Mini Yorozuya was also there. The kid was laying down over his teacher’s laps, eyes closed and mouth open with a thin thread of drool hanging from his lips. 

Toushirou sat down in front of the pair, silently asking what Yoshida wanted of him. 

“Have you found a way to go back the way you came?” Yoshida asked, voice hushed. 

“Not yet,” Toushirou admitted. “I’m sorry for imposing on you like this.” 

Yoshida shook his head. “You’re more than welcome.” 

He brought a hand to the kid’s hair, running his fingers softly through the curls. 

“You do that a lot,” Toushirou observed. 

Yoshida chuckled, looking slightly sorry. “I’m afraid it’s a habit of sorts. Even though he doesn’t seem to enjoy it very much, I can’t help it.” 

Toushirou was reminded of the kid’s expression as his teacher patted his head, earlier on the porch. “I don’t think he hates it.” 

Yoshida smiled at the words. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. 

“I used to do it to soothe his nightmares, back when he would still startle awake at the tiniest sound. Now, look at him, sleeping like a cat under a patch of sun.” 

Toushirou gave a soft snort. “That’s a fitting image.” 

“Isn’t it?” Yoshida laughed a little. 

After another moment, his eyes turned distant. Again, that expression that Toushirou couldn’t understand. A curl to his lips that made him look a thousand years older than Toushirou was, even though they should have the same age. 

“Hijikata-san, I have a favor to ask of you.” 

Toushirou straightened unconsciously. “I’m listening.” 

“I have to leave for a little while.” He looked down at the kid, eyes looking both fond and sad. “I know this child will be alright, but you don't mind, could I ask you to look after him for me?” 

Toushirou nodded. “I don’t mind.” 

Yoshida smiled. 

Gently, he moved the kid away from his laps to lie him down on the futon. Then, he stood up and walked to the door. As he slid it open, he looked back. 

“Thank you, Hijikata Toushirou.” 

Toushirou nodded and watched him leave. The door slid closed silently. 

He tried to ignore the feeling in his chest suggesting that he probably wouldn’t see the man ever again. 

He let out a breath. 

“What a day,” he muttered to himself as he sat back on the futon, relaxing his legs. A single paper lantern was casting its muted light over the tatami, flickering ever so subtly with the movements of the flame. 

He looked down at the kid. Still sleeping soundly, looking at peace. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out a hand. The silver stands of hair felt soft under his skin. He brushed a few bangs away. 

“You were a nice kid,” he said. 

_What lead you to be part of that gruesome war? To part ways with your childhood friends, now both turned criminals? To be given such a grand and sad nickname?_

_What lead you to be the man you are today?_

“A nice kid,” he repeated, running his fingers through the silver tuft of hair. 

He didn’t know when, or how he ended up lying down next to the kid, closing his eyes and drifting into a deep sleep of his own. 

What he did know was that he slept well. 

* * *

 _Thank you,_ _Hijikata_ _Toushirou. Thank you for coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final part coming soon(ish) :)


	3. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for Shogun Assassination Arc.

In his dreams, Toushirou saw scenes. They slipped by his mind too fast for him to comprehend what he was seeing, but he remembered smoke, cries, and flames. He saw a battlefield, riddled with corpses as a single man stood in the middle of it, white clothes and hair dyed red despite the rain. He heard a plea, the desperation of a comrade, and he heard steps. He heard the words and the sound of the blade. 

He saw the tears. 

He felt the cold, then the warmth of a manjuu in his mouth. He smelled the scent of sake being poured into a cup, heard the cheers and the laughter. He smelled the fur of a pet, heard the nagging of a boy, felt the kick of a girl. He saw the sky, the sun. 

Then, he saw himself, smoking a cigarette. 

The scene switched and now he was the one smoking, facing a silver-haired man. _Come back,_ the man said, and the world faded to black again. 

* 

When Toushirou woke up, there was no kid next to him. He sat up, running a hand through his bed hair and realizing a bit belatedly that he wasn’t in his uniform anymore. He was dressed in his usual night yukata, and now that he looked more closely, he noticed that the futon was different. It was _his_ futon. It was _his_ room, in the barracks. 

He was back. 

He stood up and opened the door to his room, only to come face to face with Kondou. His commander almost jumped, surprise etched on his face before his expression crumpled in relief. 

“Toushi, you’re awake.” 

Toushirou nodded wordlessly, allowing his commander to walk into the room. The man was still in uniform, probably working late night hours. They both sat down as he switched Toushirou’s desk lamp on. 

“You’ve been sleeping for a day and a half since Sougo found you passed out in the forest,” Kondou said. “We were worried.” 

“Pretty sure you were the only one worried,” Toushirou answered jokingly. 

Kondou grinned, and Toushirou was struck by how reassuring the sight felt. It had only been a day, but damn, he’d missed this. He’d missed having his commander near, or not even near but just there, somewhere he could go see him if he wanted. 

He’d missed being home. 

“Don’t say that, Toushi,” Kondou chastised happily. “Some even got you get well gifts!” 

“Is it mayonnaise?” 

“For the most part.” 

Toushirou chuckled. “I taught them well.” 

Kondou smiled before his tone turned serious. “Toushi, what happened? You weren’t even that injured, we didn’t understand why you wouldn’t wake up.” 

Slinging his arms inside his sleeves, Toushirou looked out the window. The sky was cloudless. 

“Kondou-san, have you heard of a man called Yoshida Shouyou?” 

His commander looked puzzled before turning thoughtful. “I think I might have heard of him from somewhere, but...” He looked up. “What about him?” 

Toushirou stared at the moon, at its light that hadn’t changed even after ten years. 

“No,” he said. “It’s nothing.” 

* 

It was in the fifth book records of the war that Toushirou found out about the Kansei Purge. Under the command of the previous shogun, Tokugawa Sada Sada, more than a hundred men and women suspected of being dissidents had been arrested or killed, their factions or houses taken down. In the list of names, Toushirou had read the first mention of Yoshida Shouyou, founder of the Shouka Sonjuku Academy and anti-bakufu conspirator, arrested in December 1854. The Shouka Sonjuku Academy had been burnt to the ground, its students left to their own devices. 

Toushirou closed the book when the list went to another name. December 1854. It was November right now. 

One month after he’d left, Yoshida Shouyou would be put behind bars. 

He thought back to the rice fields, swinging softly with the wind. The sound of children playing with their shinai. The taste of onigiri and green tea. The fading summer sun, the laughter, the peace. 

The smiles. 

One month later, government officials would come and burn it all away. The kids would watch, unable to do anything as their teacher was taken from them, unable to stop the flames from rising through the air. Nothing left, nothing...

All of it, gone with the wind. 

Toushirou forced himself to breathe. There was a weight on his chest that he didn’t know how to lift. He felt both cold and hot and he hated it. He hated all of it. 

He threw the book against the wall to stifle a scream. 

No matter how many pages he read after that, the name Yoshida Shouyou never came up again. He read through the entirety of the Shinsengumi archives, book after book of dusty lines that blurred together the deeper he went into the night. When dawn peeked through the window, he closed the last book with a sigh. 

He wasn’t done yet. There was still one place he hadn’t checked. 

The phone picked up after the fourth ring. _“You, what time do you think it is? A man needs his sleep, especially after a night out and too many shots to remember it. Speaking of shots, if this isn’t first place on the urgency list, the next shot I’m having is a shot at your head, Toushi.”_

“Matsudaira Pops, I need a favor. I’ll do anything.” 

* 

Toushirou closed the file and put it back on the table.

Matsudaira stared down at him as he smoked a cigar. "Got what you asked for?"

Toushirou shook his head.

After heaving a sigh, Matsudaira stubbed his cigar in the ashtray. "Well, you got all you could ask out of me."

"Is there nothing about him being released from prison?" Toushirou asked. "Or being... executed?"

"Nothing," Matsudaira confirmed. "At least, nothing the crows would make public."

"The crows?"

Matsudaira sent him a look, then pitched his voice significantly lower. "Tenshouin Naraku. If someone's out of the archives, it has to be them."

Toushirou looked down. Tenshouin Naraku. Why would a secret assassination group working for the Tendoushuu be involved in Yoshida Shouyou's fate? The more he learned, the more his suspicions were confirmed that the gentle instructor wasn't just anyone.

"Although," Matsudaira continued, "I did hear a rumor or two."

Toushirou looked up.

"I may or may not know a dove who used to have black wings, and who'd been there to witness the end of a certain man."

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, Toushirou in apprehension, Matsudaira in appraisal.

"Do you want to hear what he told me?" Matsudaira asked, and by his tone, Toushirou knew it stood as a warning. A warning that he might not get to hear what he wanted to hear.

Toushirou nodded anyway.

Matsudaira paused, then looked out the window.

"November 21st, 1859. Beheaded by one of his disciples."

*

The pleas, the words, the blade, and the tears.

_Beheaded by one of his disciples._

Matsudaira had been right. In life, there were things Toushirou wished he could have known, and things he wished he'd never had. 

* 

“Toushi, what are you doing?” 

Toushirou glanced at his commander, then back at the barracks’ calendar. His eyes trailed the loop of the 2, followed the line of the 1. 

November 21st. 

“Leave him be, Kondou-san,” Sougo said with a bored tone. “He’s been going in and out of zones like this for the past three days. Brain damage is irreversible, you know.” 

“Toushi...” 

“With some luck, it will only get worse.” 

“Sougo!” 

Toushirou let the discussion drift from one ear to another. He traced with his eyes the ink of the numbers for one last time, then stood up and grabbed his jacket. 

“Toushi? Where are you going?” 

“Smoke break,” Toushirou mumbled as he left the barracks’ canteen, meal untouched. 

The air was crisp, clouds heavy. Autumn had settled in fully, carrying a scent of cold through the streets. Toushirou walked, not bothering to put on his jacket as he simply held it over his shoulder, cigarette between his lips. He walked, walked, and kept walking. 

Until he saw him. 

Toushirou wasn’t stupid. He didn’t need to know all of the details to have a fair idea of what it had all meant. He’d done enough investigations before to know how to connect a dot or two, even with insufficient information. 

The kid, the Shiroyasha, the Yorozuya. He may not have the whole picture, but he had enough now. Enough to know what it meant for the man to be sitting alone at a dango shop, munching absently on a stick as he looked down at the ground. 

He knew what November 21st meant, now. 

“One plate, mayonnaise topping,” he told the shop owner as he sat down. 

The Yorozuya blinked then looked up, only now noticing Toushirou next to him. He remained silent for a moment before letting out a soft snort. “Slacking off in the middle of the day, Officer? This town’s doomed if even the Demonic Vice-Chief picks up bad habits.” 

“Smoke break,” Toushirou reiterated, puffing out a cloud of smoke in demonstration. 

“At a dango shop? Yeah right. Come back when you’ve learned how to lie.” 

_You should work up your lying game if you want to actually sound credible._

Toushirou snorted at the memory. “You really haven’t changed since then. What’s with you and lying anyway?” 

“The more you lie, the more impact it has when you’re being honest.” The man shrugged. “It’s a good way to win over people’s hearts.” 

“You don’t win over people’s hearts, you stain them.” 

“All the same.” 

Toushirou’s dango plate arrived. He thanked the owner and paid, much like he’d done three days ago, fifteen years into the past. He grabbed a stick as the clouds cried their first drop of rain. 

By the time he was done with his first dango, the Yorozuya still hadn’t moved on from his, too busy staring at the rain to eat. 

“You’re not inhaling your food today.” 

The Yorozuya looked down at his hand holding a stick. “I’m just savoring it.” 

Another moment passed, Toushirou munching the silence away with his second dango. Even after he’d finished it, the other man hadn’t progressed one bit. 

“Lousy weather,” Toushirou commented, looking up at the sky above. 

The Yorozuya followed his line of sight. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Lousy weather.” 

Toushirou looked at the man’s profile. At his empty eyes and hollow lips, betraying nothing and everything at once. 

Before he could help it, he reached out a hand. 

The Yorozuya’s eyes widened when he felt something ruffle his hair. “What are you doing?” He asked, expression dithering between confused and stunned. 

Toushirou met his gaze, hand still up in the mess of curls. “Do you hate it?” 

When the Yorozuya frowned, mouth parting in what was sure to become a protest, Toushirou quirked an eyebrow at him. The gesture seemed to rob the words from the man’s lips. He closed his mouth and looked away. 

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t hate it.” 

Toushirou smiled. 

“You’re right. It does feel nice when you’re being honest.” 

“Shut up.” 

As he ran his fingers through the silver tuft of hair, Toushirou brought the man’s head to his chest. The colder the wind was as it ruffled their clothes, the warmer they felt where their bodies met. They watched as the rain fell, carrying whispers of memories through the air before washing them away. 

“As I thought, this size suits you best,” Toushirou said. 

Gintoki chuckled. 

“You’re saying strange things again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends Hiji's one day trip into the past. Hope you enjoyed till the end, and if you want to make an author happy, don't hesitate to drop by the comment section to say hi :D


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